paragraph is the matter-of-course view
of it taken by the youthful superintendent.

By the way, Jim, driver on the James McTureous place, used to be slave
of Mr. Pritchard, residing in Hunting Island,[57] which runs along
just outside of St. Helena. He was a very cruel man,--there are
stories of his burning negroes,--so when the "guns fired at Bay
Point," as he couldn't run from his negroes, as the other masters did,
for lack of transportation, his negroes ran from him, and settled
among their friends on St. Helena. When matters were established at
Hilton Head, Pritchard went and took the oath and got a pass, and has
since lived at home, supporting himself by fishing and raising hogs.
He often visits Jim and others of his old slaves, getting them to go
fishing with him. Now one day last year, Jim and Mr. Pritchard found a
four-oared boat--I give Jim's story--on the beach. Pritchard promised
Jim half the value of the boat, but has since refused to fulfill his
promise. Jim referred the matter to me. I told him to send Pritchard
up to me. I think there will be no trouble, if Jim's story is
straight.

Cherry Hill, one of T. A. Coffin's[58] places, comes next to
McTureous'. Cherry Hill is one of the most encouraging places I have.
The people are of a more sensible caste, old people, almost entirely,
who see the sense and propriety of right measures, and display a most
comforting willingness to work and be content, though with less
energy, of course, than younger men. The place owes much of its
success this year to Tony, the driver, a person of great discretion,
energy, and influence. The ingenious method by which he induced the
people to plant more cotton than they wanted to is entertaining,
though a little troublesome to us in making out the pay-roll. Mr.
Palmer, Mr. Soule's assistant, counted sixteen acres of cotton on the
place. But the several accounts of the people on the place added up
only fourteen and a half acres. In this perplexity, Tony was appealed
to, who explained the difficulty thus. The land was laid off in rows,
twenty-one to the task, each row being one hundred and five feet long.
Tony staked off the tasks anew, throwing twenty-four instead of
twenty-one rows into the task, thus adding twelve rows to every acre,
which the people blindly tilled, never suspecting but that they were
having their own way about their cotton.

Mulberry Hill, owned by Captain John Fripp, is a little place, with
not many mo